


Whispers from the Bluebells

by RoseByAnyOtherName (badxwolfxrising)



Category: Broadchurch, Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/M, Gen, Paranormal, Paranormal AU, Paranormal Detectives AU, Paranormal Investigators
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 06:21:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8833726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badxwolfxrising/pseuds/RoseByAnyOtherName
Summary: A cryptic photograph taken near the site of the Sandbrook murders lures a reluctant Alec Hardy back to the town where he lost everything. After a chance encounter in the woods with Torchwood operative Rose Tyler, Hardy finds himself drawn into a mystery the likes of which he’s never seen. With unseen and malevolent forces working against them, the unlikely partners must race against the clock to find answers to a case that’s gone unsolved for over twenty years. Neither one of them ever dared to dream that their search for the truth would lead to something more than just friendship.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have to give mad crazy props to AO3/tumblr user fadewithfury for creating the original moodboard that inspired this fic, and to thedeliriumtennants and all my other tumblr fam who encouraged me to start writing this. 

Hardy stared blankly at his computer screen with eyes burning, the pixels beginning to blur and swim incoherently as he tried to reconcile what exactly it was he was looking at. He would know that damned forest anywhere, had suffered through a dozen different nightmares of himself almost drowning before dragging Pippa Gillespie’s body out of the river and walking through those cursed bluebells. Now he couldn’t even look at the stupid bloody flowers without his stomach twisting into knots, which was a bit of a challenge given how ubiquitous they were, especially in the English countryside. Ricky Gillespie and Claire and Lee Ashworth were to thank for that, those soulless, murderous monsters who had killed the children that loved and trusted them in cold blood. Alec had expected to find some sort of solace in the wake of solving the Sandbrook case, but his nightmares continued on just as strong and vivid as ever. Two innocent young girls were still dead, their families were still left in tatters, and his relationships with his ex-wife and daughter were still just as fraught and tenuous as they had been before. Now, even with all three of the killers behind bars and justice served, he was still apparently being haunted by the ghosts of Sandbrook.

 

No matter how long he stared at the picture, he just couldn’t make sense of it. At first glance, it seemed like just a normal photo of the forest-trees, flowers, and that ever present damp morning mist that blanketed the countryside during the cooler months. But the longer he stared at it, the longer his eyes picked over the minute details, the more sinister it became. If all you did was glance at the picture you’d probably miss it, but he’d been staring at the damn thing for over twenty minutes now and just couldn’t make himself unsee the ethereal figure hiding in the shadows of the trees. It would be easy enough to blow it off as some photoshopping asshole’s idea of a joke, except that the photo had come from a trusted source who had sent him the whole series of images. The ghostly figure of what looked to be a young girl only showed up in the one photo, and the person who had taken them swore that he had been alone the whole time. He had only sent the photos to Alec because he wanted confirmation from another skeptic that what he was seeing in the picture was actually there, or it was only his imagination. Alec had been prepared to tell his old friend that he must be losing it, but then he’d seen the picture for himself and a germ of unease started unfurling in his guts. Even though he knew it was impossible, every time he looked at that shadowy figure he got the feeling that it was looking back at him. Could it possibly be coincidence that the photo had been taken near the same copse of trees where Claire Ashworth had buried the flask of tainted liquor used to drug Pippa Gillespie before her death?

 

Hardy shrugged his jacket over his shoulders, but the chill that went down his spine had nothing to do with the temperature.

 

* * * * *  
“Come on damnit, answer your bloody phone!” Hardy cursed with frustration. He’d called Jack, the friend who had sent him the pictures, several times during the drive up to Sandbrook and each time it had gone straight to voicemail, which was somewhat unusual. Jack was normally the sort who always answered his phone, even during the dead of night, so for him to not answer or return a call in the early evening was a bit concerning. Twilight was fast approaching, and he was sitting alone in an empty church car park close by the woods, debating with himself on whether or not he should head into the forest alone to investigate. He had a torch and old pair of trainers with him, so there was no real reason not to do it, but he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he’d been uneasy and on edge since receiving the email with the photos. It was silly, of course, but he just couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something strange going on. The feeling he got when he looked at that picture...something about it just wasn’t right, and Jack must have thought so too, otherwise he never would’ve bothered sending it in the first place. Looking at it gave him that same sort of skin-crawling feeling you’d get walking around an abandoned asylum or train station, or any one of those other liminal spaces where even alone you felt like you were being watched.

 

“Don’t be daft,” he whispered to himself, chucking his loafers onto the passenger seat and grabbing his trainers. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, and there’s no such thing as ghosts. There has to be some kind of reasonable, scientific explanation for that photo. It was probably just a trick of the light or something. Maybe Jack really was just screwing with me, I wouldn’t put it past him, he likes a joke as much as the next guy…”

 

Of course, if he really believed any of that he wouldn’t have bothered driving up to Sandbrook and wouldn’t be sitting here alone in a car park, talking to and trying to convince himself that it was a good idea to go into the woods by himself when it was very nearly dark. What the hell was wrong with him? He had always been logical to a fault, no nonsense, didn’t believe in gods or devils or miracles, and by extension, ghosts and the supernatural. Something though seemed to be drawing him here to this place, calling for him and pulling at him like a giant invisible magnet. And it wasn’t as if he had anything else going on, he was still on light duty and only working a few days a week, had been since getting the pacemaker put in. It might be good to go out and investigate a bit, even if it ended up going nowhere. Sitting behind a desk most days, teaching classes, and filling out paperwork so simple a toddler could do it, he barely felt human. Field work was what he lived for, had lived for as long as he’d been a cop, and he was anxious to get back to it. Maybe that was the real reason he was here. He buttoned up his jacket with a sigh, grabbed the torch out of the glove box, and locked the car behind him before setting off towards the woods.

 

It was unseasonably chilly, even for late March in England, and he jammed the hand that wasn’t holding the torch into his jacket pocket, silently cursing himself for not grabbing a pair of gloves. The breeze whipping through the trees cut through him like a knife-even with his jacket on, he was struggling to keep warm. Tess always used to tease him when he’d complain about being cold, said he needed more meat on his bones to keep himself from freezing. Dave was definitely a lot meatier than he was, with big, strong arms that were probably perfect for heating up his frigid slag of a wife. Well, ex-wife now. It’d been over two years since they had separated, and he still thought of her as his wife, probably always would unless he met someone else, which seemed rather unlikely at this stage in the game. He knew he was a bit of a bastard, especially now, but he hadn’t always been that way-he’d definitely hardened up quite a bit in the wake of his divorce and public disgrace. Still, women weren’t exactly beating down his door now (not that they ever had been), and the last woman he’d made a pass at had humiliated him by laughing in his face. The closest relationship he had with a woman these days was probably Miller, and she just barely tolerated him most of the time.

 

The trees were quite a bit more dense than he remembered, and only a hint of the light from the purple twilight sky filtered through the leaves, barely illuminating the rough worn footpath that cut through the underbrush. He kept the torch pointed straight ahead of him and on the path, hoping that he was going the right direction and not just blundering his way towards becoming lost in the forest after dark. That would be his luck, getting turned around in the woods on a cold spring night in an area where cell phone reception was spotty at best. Why had he thought doing this in the evening was a good idea again? Why hadn’t he just waited until Jack had gotten back to him? This was obviously another one of those days where his head wasn’t quite screwed on straight. Regardless of what time he managed to make it out of here, it was already too late to be driving back to his shitty little shanty by the sea, and he hadn’t bothered to arrange for a place to spend the night. Of course Tess still lived outside of Sandbrook with their daughter, but he’d rather cut off his left arm and feed it to a grizzly bear than call his ex and ask if he could sleep on the natty old sofa. As much as he would love to spend some time with Daisy, he was still too stubborn and full of pride to bring himself to ask the woman who had wounded him so deeply for a simple favor. When it came to communicating with his ex, nothing was simple. Almost every request he made to spend time with their daughter was met with an argument or an excuse, and it was getting tiresome.

 

The woods were eerily quiet, as if he weren’t already on edge enough. Where was the hushed murmur of bugs, the birds, or the sounds of deer and other small animals moving through the brush? That germ of unease that had started blooming in him hours ago when he first saw the photo intensified, and he unconsciously held his breath, waiting for something to happen. A sudden gust of wind blew straight up against his back then, catching him off guard and causing him to stumble over a root sticking up out of the ground. The torch tumbled out of his hand and hit the ground, flickering out as it rolled away from him.

 

“Son of a bitch!” he cursed, chasing after it. He bent over to retrieve it from the base of the tree it had rolled against, the susurrus of rustling leaves sounding unnaturally loud to his ears after the prolonged silence. As he stood back up, the hair on the back of his neck raised up, and he was certain when he turned around there would be someone (or worse, something) standing right behind him. His fingers, gone cold and clammy, gripped the torch like a talisman. He whipped around to look…

 

But there was nobody there.

 

“Well of course not you silly sod, what were you expecting, a boggart?” he muttered derisively, shaking his head. He turned on the torch, picked his way back to the path, and started back the way he’d came. Coming out here alone at night had been a mistake-it was too dark, and he was too on edge to do anything useful. He hurried along the path, eager to make it back to the car.  
The wind picked back up again, whipping through the trees, carrying with it what sounded eerily like a voice, calling his name.

 

“Allleeeccccc…….”

 

“Who’s there?” he called out, voice wavering, shining the torch in a circle around him. “Jack? Is that you? Quit messing about!”

 

He waited, breath lodged in his throat, heart galloping. There was no answer, but had he really wanted or expected one? He quickened his pace, almost breaking into a full run as he went back along the path. Rushing out of the trees, he fumbled through his pockets for the key fob, hands trembling as he stabbed the key into the lock. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Even watching the woods disappear in the rearview mirror, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. When his mobile jangled loudly a moment later, he almost jumped out of his skin before answering. “Hello?”

 

“Hey Alec, it’s Jack, you rang me earlier?”

 

Internally, he sighed in relief. “Yeah, I did. It was about those weird photos you sent me from Sandbrook. I was wondering if you could tell me a bit more about them? I just came from the woods, but it was too dark to really see much. Creeped myself out, that’s about it.”

 

“Sorry, what photos?”

 

“The photos you emailed me this morning? Jesus Jack, I know we’re getting old, but your short-term memory isn’t getting that bad, is it? Maybe you should start taking some gingo biloba.”

 

“Haha, Hardy, very funny. But I still don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been out of the house all day, I haven’t sent any emails.”

 

“Jack, this isn’t funny, stop arsing around!” he hissed in frustration. “I’ve already driven up to Sandbrook, I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

 

“Alec, seriously, I promise you, I _really_ don’t know what you’re talking about. Why are you so-”

 

His mobile made the telltale beep of a dropped call, and he glared down at it. No service, of course. He tossed it onto the seat beside him and kept driving, but his anxiety was already kicking back into high gear. If Jack hadn’t sent him those photos, who had?


End file.
